


reach out and touch

by ggrantaire



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: !!, Alive Noah, Fluff without Plot, Getting Together, Jigsaw Puzzles, M/M, or something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7101319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggrantaire/pseuds/ggrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noah Czerny was not like other boys that Richard Gansey III knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reach out and touch

**Author's Note:**

> (05/06) this is a quick birthday present to [elliot](http://edmunddcorcoran.tumblr.com/) because i apparently love using him as an excuse to make gansey/noah content !! ❤ happy birthday ily !! ❤

Noah Czerny was not like other boys that Richard Gansey III knew. Noah rolled his eyes at things that would have sent Gansey reeling; when people said things he didn’t like, he shrugged; he smiled even when everything was falling apart. Noah didn’t know how to hate, but he hid this under layers of aloofness and dark denim. Sometimes Gansey wondered if Noah was ashamed of his softness, but that didn’t seem right. People didn’t know how to react to Noah, and Gansey thought that maybe Noah didn’t know how to react to Noah, either.

Gansey certainly didn’t know how to react to him—at least, not to some aspects of him. His smile was easy enough to respond to; who could do anything but smile back? But certain things derailed Gansey’s normal thought processes like a switch had been flipped: The animated way he gestured when he spoke, the way he would stand with one foot on top of the other as though trying not to take up too much space, the way his voice shifted when he was worried (Noah had a very select number of things he considered worthy of his worry. His friends were one of those things). These parts of Noah felt very significant in a way that Gansey couldn’t exactly put his finger on.

Gansey didn’t like to move without purpose. Gansey liked to be noticed when he walked into a room. Gansey’s anxieties were numerous (and yet well-contained). Gansey suspected that he and Noah Czerny were completely different creatures.

This suspicion is only heightened by the way he enters Monmouth Manufacturing that night. The door opens with a bang, slamming into the wall. Gansey jumps, yanking out his headphones and whipping around to see the boy in the doorway with his palm still out from opening the door, huge grin on his face. Like a kindergartner who’s just had soda before bed, he is entirely too awake for this hour.

“Richard,” he says, dropping his backpack to the floor, “You’ll never believe what I’ve picked up from the dollar store.”

“What would that be?”

Noah kicks the door shut behind him and then kneels at his backpack. His bangs fall into his face, soft waves obstructing the glint in his eyes from Gansey’s view. First he pulls out a two-liter of off-brand soda, and Gansey is _almost_ spectacularly underwhelmed by his dollar-store find, but then he’s removing two cardboard boxes, as well. He stands, popping to his feet in a quick motion, turning the boxes around towards Gansey. If possible, his smile is even wider.

“…Puzzles?”

“ _Yes_.” He tucks them under his arm and picks up the soda from the floor. “And this…” He turns the label around to read it, “Fun Pop.” He quirks his eyebrows, as though the name delights him.

“That’s… good?”

Noah rolls his eyes and kicks his backpack off to the side. He drops the boxes onto the floor in the center of the room and gestures with Gansey to leave his desk. “Come on, if Ronan and Adam are off doing _whatever_ , we’re not going to sit around studying all night.”

At that, Noah sits down, folding his legs and opens the bottle with a _hiss_. He takes a swig right from it and then holds it out to Gansey, who has drifted away from his homework without argument. Eyeing the label, Gansey asks, “What flavor is this?”

“Dunno. It’s pink, though.”

“That it is.” He sits down across from Noah and takes a sip of the artificially colored soda. “Peach?”

“I was thinking it was more strawberry.”

They both make a face.

Noah pulls the boxes of puzzles between them. One of them is a picture of a wash basin full of kittens, while the other looks impossibly hard, being merely a field of practically identical flowers. He surveys the boxes as though they are his own masterpieces and asks, “Which first?”

“Do you _really_ want to do puzzles?”

Noah looks unimpressed. “Do you _not_ wanna do puzzles?” When he doesn’t answer, Noah goes on, “I know I _don’t_ wanna do my Spanish homework.”

Finally Gansey shrugs. “Let’s start with the easy one, then.”

“Grand.”

Another way Noah is different from Gansey: He can devote a spectacular amount of attention to things that simply don’t matter. Things like dollar store puzzles. Though it sounds almost like a criticism, as Gansey rolls the thought around in his head, it is only something positive. He enjoys the puzzle simply for what it is—a challenge that isn’t much of a challenge, a task of detail and attention. He emphatically thanks Gansey when he hands him the piece he needs; he directs Gansey’s own hands towards the correct pieces; he tuts thoughtfully when the two of them can’t find what they’re looking for.

At the end of the puzzle, there’s a hole in the middle, the middle portion having been put together by Gansey separately. It’s an orange tabby cat, and she needs to be lifted into the center. With fingers light as air, Noah scoops it up and drops it softly into the missing section.

Another thing about Noah: He is gentle. Always gentle.

It is something Gansey aspires towards.

“Wow. Look at these cats.” He nods solemnly, tapping at his knee. “Wish we had some puzzle glue.”

“We’ll keep it safe.” Gansey pushes it off to the side.

“On to the next one, then!”

“No break?”

“Why would we take a break when we’re on a roll?” Noah asks, the genuineness in his voice making Gansey laugh.

“True enough.”

This puzzle starts the same as the last one. Enthusiastically, Noah hunts down the edge bits, scooting back to account for the fact that this puzzle is larger than the last one. He leans over his work, sometimes so low his hair brushes the floor. Sometimes he has a hand spread against the ground and he’s leaned across the puzzle, just a few inches from Gansey’s knees. Then he’ll look up, push his hair back, notice how near they are and arch an eyebrow or quirk his head to the side. But then he’ll blink, sink back, and turn his devotion back to the task at hand.

However, as soon as there’s a skeleton of edges between them, they hit a snag. Suddenly, three-hundred pieces is _really_ quite a lot and these flowers are _really_ quite undistinguishable.

“Hm,” Noah articulates.

“Hm,” Gansey agrees.

Noah soldiers on, because that’s what he does, but he is fading fast.

It’s but fifteen minutes later, in the wake of very meagre progress, that Noah lies down with his back on the floor. He knots his fingers through his hair and glances sideways at Gansey. “We cannot surrender,” he says seriously, though his voice cracks. “We can’t let it win.”

Gansey is toying with a curiously shaped piece, one thumb to his lip.

Without warning, Noah sits back up and clambers to his feet, as though surveying their work from above will help any. Hands on his hips, he taps his foot.

“See anything from up there?” Gansey questions.

“Negative.”

Noah steps over to the side to look at it from the left. Then he goes to the right. And then he goes to stand behind Gansey. He crouches, still behind him, peering over his shoulder. Gansey turns his face to look at him, as much as is allowed by how close he is.

“What?”

“Well, you’re looking at it head-on. I thought it might help to see it not-upside down.”

“Does it?”

“No.” Noah, however, doesn’t move right away. Gansey turns back to the puzzle once again, but he’s very aware of Noah’s proximity. Then Noah says quietly, “We could give up.”

“But then what would we do?” he asks, his tone a distant sort of casual.

“I dunno.” Noah drops to the side, sitting down with his right leg almost touching Gansey’s left, just far enough in front of him that they can make eye contact. Drawing his knees towards his chest, Noah drapes his arms over his kneecaps. Then he tilts his head to the side, as though he’d just asked a question.

It’s quiet, though. There was no spoken question. Noah lets his gaze fall back to the floor, to the puzzle. He turns a piece over between his fingers and idly tries to stick it with a few various pieces, though to no avail.

“Richard,” he says at last, putting it back down.

“Noah,” he returns, amused every time he calls him that. Noah is the only one who does it, and indeed, probably the only one Gansey would allow. Something about that name in Noah’s mouth doesn’t sound mocking or stuffy the way it does with other people. It sounds kinder, closer. For an instant, Gansey allows himself to think that maybe it’s not amusement he feels when Noah calls him that. Maybe it’s something more like—

Noah interrupts the thought, “Actually, I _do_ know something else we could do.” His grin is suddenly crooked, cat-like.

Gansey’s first instinct is to say, _Do you_? Because that’s his usual tactic with conversations with Noah—Noah’s very content to steer them himself, to say whatever it is he’s thinking outright, and there’s often very little cause to speculate when he says something like that. But instead what Gansey hears himself say is, “I think I might, also.”

Having not have expected that, Noah’s eyebrows shoot up. His smile shifts. “Do you now?”

“I mean—I might.”

“Hmm,” Noah hums. “Well, okay. I don’t know what _you_ could possibly be thinking of, _but_ …” He draws out this last syllable, “I was thinking of drinking more of this watermelon soda.” He leans across Gansey to retrieve the bottle. He’s still smiling, even as he takes a sip, eyes never wavering far from Gansey, who is also wearing some semblance of a smile. “But okay,” he says, screwing the lid back on and pushing it to the side. “Let’s see if we can figure out what you were thinking of.”

“Noah—”

He holds a finger in the air, silencing him. “No, no. I’m keen to guess.” For a second they’re just sitting like that, staring at each other. Then Noah drops his fingertips to Gansey’s knee, the weight of them hardly perceptible. “Might it start somewhere like this?”

Gansey almost bites down on his tongue. “I… It might.”

“And what about this?” His hand hardly moves, hardly a centimeter upwards, but Noah leans in, eyelashes flicking downwards. He’s just a second away from him, just half a movement away.

Noah likes to play games. Noah takes a great deal of joy in trivialities. He enjoys puzzles, yes, and apparently he enjoys turning his life into a puzzle, as well. His smile never falters, even as Gansey finds himself struggling to catch his breath, even when he’s still inches from him, still too far.

Yes, Gansey thinks Noah might turn his entire life into a game if he were given the chance.

Gansey, on the other hand, isn’t very good at beating around the bush.

“Yes,” he says, leaning forward himself.

“Oh? Well that _is_ interesting.”

Gansey only rolls his eyes, half a gesture, done more to ward off the fluttering in his stomach than out of any kind of real exasperation.

Noah catches his hand along Gansey’s jaw, fingertips brushing the hair behind his ear. “And what about—”

“Yes.”

A laugh drifts from Noah’s lips, and then his smile meets the skin just below Gansey’s jaw. It’s a simple thing, lips to his neck, but it draws the smallest exhale from Gansey—it’s some mix of surprise and pleasure. Gansey reaches for Noah’s shirt to pull him closer, and he feels him smile between the kisses. Then he’s pulling back, only so he can toss a leg over Gansey’s lap.

He places a hand on either side of his face.

“Your hands are cold,” Gansey mumbles.

“My bad.” Noah idly runs a thumb over Gansey’s lower lip, though, unapologetic.

Then he closes the space between them.

Noah is all gentle but eager touches. Kisses that simultaneously confuse and wake up, rush and linger. Noah runs his fingers beneath the hem of his shirt, drawing up a shutter, a hand tightening in the back of his hair. His lips pull at Gansey’s and drift back to his neck, slip down to his collarbone.

If the puzzles before were a game of putting together, this is a game of undoing. And Noah is all too good at it. No matter how their hands meet, no matter where their lips brush, there seems perpetually to be too much space between them. Noah tugs at his shirt, Gansey loops his fingers in the belt loops of Noah’s jeans.

Gansey may not play games the same way Noah does, but he learns.

After an incident where they’d gotten dangerously close to messing up the kitten puzzle, Noah pulled himself from Gansey. The other had tried to protest, but then Noah had just held out his hand to drag him onto the bed. Quietly Gansey made a mumbled remark about being invited to his own bed, but that was neither here nor there.

Now Noah leans over him, still smiling, ever smiling. “You’re very flustered.”

“I am _not_ ,” Gansey retorts, though even saying that makes him flush.

Noah responds by pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Which of course doesn’t help the situation.

Before Noah can comment further, Gansey pulls their lips back together.

 

* * *

 

Gansey can’t remember the exact chain of events that led to their current situation—half-dressed, Noah with his arm wrapped around his waist, forehead rested on the back of his shoulder. Gansey did not rush into things like this. Not normally. But ordinary rules seemed to avoid Noah like they were allergic to him; his life had different guidelines than everyone else’s. And kissing Noah was too easy. When Noah wrapped his arms around you, it felt like a present, a carefully given gift that didn’t expect anything in return.

That felt like something to hold onto.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Noah mumbles, lips brushing his skin.

Gansey starts. He’d thought that Noah was asleep. He turns, trying to get a look at his face, but Noah only buries it in the pillow behind him. “What?” Gansey asks lightly, instead of answering.

Noah’s fingers tighten around his waist. He makes a vague sound. His face remains hidden.

“What, Noah?” Now, concerned, he turns to his other side so that he can face him all the way.

Noah looks like he wants to disappear; eyes darting away, hands now drawn to his chest. A sort of clawing tugs at Gansey’s chest. _Oh_. He clears his throat a little, awkwardly.

“We can pretend like that didn’t… If that’s what you want, I mean…”

It takes a fraction of a second for Noah’s eyes to go wide. “No, that’s not what I—I mean, if _you_ want—”

“Well, _I_ don’t want—”

“I definitely don’t want to pretend it didn’t—”

“You don’t?”

“ _You_ don’t?” Noah blinks. “I thought you wouldn’t want to be…” He gestures feebly.

“ _Why?_ ” The incredulous question slips his lips before he can stop it. The idea that Gansey wouldn’t want to be with this happy, odd boy is just too ridiculous for him to not be confused by Noah’s confusion. Unsure what else to say, he pulls Noah’s hand into his.

Noah’s eyes drop to their hands, assessingly.

Then for a moment, they’re just staring at each other, making sense of whatever choppy conversation they just had. It’s so out-of-character for the both of them—Gansey, normally so composed and calculated; Noah, normally so unrestrained with his words. All at once, things seem to click into place.

And then Noah laughs. “Well, we should probably do that again, then.”


End file.
